


Over and Over

by PrinceofKawaii



Series: Moonlit Walks Universe [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Happy Ending, Help, I'm Bad At Tagging, It's almost 4am, M/M, Mute Frisk, PTSD, Panic Attacks, SAVING and Resetting, Sans Has Issues, Self-Hatred, Swearing, gender neutral frisk, gender neutral reader, sans fucks up a press conference and loves it, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofKawaii/pseuds/PrinceofKawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans struggles through a RESET. It's not the first time, and probably won't be the last. It's just getting more difficult every time.</p><p>It's worth it.</p><p>(Okay, so this did end up being a legitimate sequel to Moonlit Walks, Coffee, and a Dragon regardless of whether or not I wanted it to be. YOLO.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not the First Time

This wasn’t the first time he’d gone through the motions. Sans knew it wasn’t the kid’s fault, they had no control over their abilities even if it was so much easier to want to blame them for everything. SAVE and RESET were powerful forces of time and space – it was just unfortunate that he was the one stuck remembering more than they did. Or anything at all, really.

Reaching up to rub a hand over his face, Sans resolves that he can avoid opening his eyes for a while longer. He knows the telltale ache in his Soul – a deep, all-encompassing discomfort that left him feeling exhausted and settled a raw feeling in his bones like a chronic pain that wouldn’t dissuade no matter how hard he tried. It was obvious that the timeline had been dialed back, and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes and figure out how far back he’s gone. Not yet.

Frisk, while having the ability to RESET, couldn’t exactly pick and choose how far back they went. It had nothing to do with SAVE – which they only used to protect important points in their life – and they could end up pretty much anywhere. Back in the Underground that RESET could have landed them anywhere from five minutes prior to their death or as far back as their fall down into the Ruins. It never seemed to go farther back than that, showcasing that their powers had been “come across” while down there. He’d originally suspected it had something to do with Chara, but now he wasn’t so sure. As far as he knew, that damnable creature was left in that hellhole they crawled their way out of.

Rolling over, Sans smothers his face in his pillow. If he could waste the day away by sleeping, he would. At this point in time he couldn’t bring himself to care about much of anything. This was the eighth time that time itself had been rewound since the monsters first broke out to the surface with Frisk’s help, and he was beginning to wonder if he should wrap the kid in bubble wrap to try and protect them from anymore untimely deaths. They had yet to figure out if old age would have the same added effect. If it did, then at least Sans could relive the same sixty years instead of some amount of time that was less than ten.

Was that even right? Ten years? No, that wasn’t right. Frisk usually stayed for almost a year in the underground, then it’s usually on the surface for no more than five. If they even made it that far. All the timelines were starting to blur, his mind incapable of compartmentalizing them anymore, there’d been so many. He can feel the pounding ache in his skull and the telltale burn of out-of-control magic in his left eye, so he raises his left hand and covers it, trying to smother it.

The pounding gets worse.

It gets so bad, in fact, that he’s forced to open his good eye and take in his surroundings, though his socket is squinted in clear discomfort, his mouth twisted into a grimace. He manages a laugh at the state of the room he’s in, the sound hollow and derisive in nature. It was the very same room from when they’d gotten up to the surface in the first place, the boss monsters having gotten government-provided accommodations along with their human charge during the negotiations and tentative peace talks. He dimly notes that there were hidden cameras set up, so he tries not to look too suspicious, his eye still closed painfully to try and stop any wayward blue from escaping.

He wasn’t exactly keen on a confrontation.

He gives a prominent shiver, wondering when he’d started to shake, and it takes a while of deep breathing to calm down enough to calm his headache down enough to pull his hand away, his eye slowly opening. Everything he saw was bathed in a blue glow, and he could see the aura of a guard patrolling the hallway. Must be after-hours, and a glance at the hovering clock (his magic was still on the fritz, apparently), while painfully bright in the darkness, is enough to confirm that it’s five am.

Reaching over to press a button, he scrolls through the options and arrives at a date. It’s a week after the barrier was broken, and the second day (first night) staying at the government housing accommodations. He didn’t have much in the way of possessions, and they’d taken away his phone. Sans waves his hand and the clock lowers itself down to the bedside table, and a pencil crashes down onto it with a hollow sound. He hadn’t even noticed it.

It takes even longer for his magic to settle down again and for his vision to return to normal. It’s nearly seven am the next time he checks the time, and he’s so exhausted that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he can’t bring himself to sleep. In five minutes and forty-two seconds, a guard will knock on the door, informing him of Papyrus’ wish to go see the sunrise. His group of friends will be permitted to hang out in the garden and do so, with an escort.

None of them will want to leave, but the humans have to make sure.

Sans grimaces. It’s going to be a long fucking day.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s exhausting to put up a front all the time. None of his friends seem to realize that there’s something off about him, and that either says something about them or about his abilities as an actor. Maybe he always seems off, and that’s what they expect from him. It gives Sans a headache just thinking about it, and his magic sears his eye again. He brings a hand up to his socket again, pressing against it to try and dissuade the uncomfortable burning, and hopes no one notices. They don’t. They’re too entranced by the pleasant conversation and the marvels of nature and human ingenuity.

He’ll just have to be careful. RESETs were hell for him to go through and process for the first couple of days, but he’ll be back to normal in no time. He just has to remember to focus enough to go through the motions expected of him. Carefully crafted laziness, trying to hide the innate perceptiveness he had, trying to cover up his discomfort with jokes.

The last thing he remembered before the _pleasant_ jaunt through space-time was lying in bed next to you as you slumbered and drifting off to sleep. He’d felt the intense surge of magic enough to snap out of one of the first restful sleeps he’d had in a long time, a hand on your head to keep you out cold as he watched the world dissolve out of the window.

It was hauntingly beautiful.

You were beautiful.

The stabbing gets more intense, and he has to grind his teeth to keep from making a sound, the light filtering through the edges of his palm and trailing like smoky vapor into the crisp, morning air. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take a shortcut out of there and go somewhere where he could let loose and not have to worry about the government, or his friends. He can feel the way that his Soul rumbles, his Gaster Blasters wanting so badly to be let out so that they could use up the excess magic and let out his frustrations on an untouched landscape.

Frisk turns to him, and he gives a shaky smile in response, his ribcage rising and falling in jerky motions and body trembling. They give him a once-over, and their face falls because they’ve seen this side of Sans before, and it causes a few memories to trigger. Sans gives a pleading expression, trying to silently let them know not to bring attention to him, and they frown slightly and nod. They understand.

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ they sign at him, and Sans almost laughs. He’s glad he doesn’t, because he’s sure a sob would have come out instead. He waves off the apology because nothing can be done about it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters.

They tug on their mother’s sleeve, and Sans turns away to avoid eavesdropping on the conversation and he jerks when Frisk’s hand reaches up and grabs his hand, tugging it away from his face. They don’t flinch when he looks at them, eye blazing, not seeming to care about the way his magic crackles through his body and arcs through theirs at the contact. He’s really grateful when it seems as though their HP is unaffected by the jolt, their aura strong and bright as ever, and their Soul still untouched where it sits in their chest cavity.

 _‘I told mom that you weren’t feeling well.’_ Before Sans can open his mouth to say something, they quickly continue. _‘I told her not to tell anyone. Just that I’d hang out with you and help you feel better. I’ve seen the sunrise lots anyway. Please don’t be mad.’_

He can’t be. Part of him wants to be. Part of him wants to scream and lash out and shake them and go _how fucking **dare** you_ , but he can’t. He loves them too much. It’s not their fault. So he doesn’t fight them when they take his hand and lead him inside. Frisk is the only one who’s close to understanding, and they take him somewhere where there’s minimum security and they don’t question anything when he buries his face in their hair and shakes. They just rub his back and let him try and calm down, and don’t do anything but tense when his magic spikes in distress.

He doesn't cry, but even if he had he's not sure there were even any tears left in him to do so. It's been such a long time - decades from his perspective - since Frisk first fell into the ruins.

Though...

Sans vaguely realizes that every RESET since being on the surface is getting harder than the last.


	2. Dark, Darker, Yet Darker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know what I'm doing.
> 
> SHRUGS INTO INFINITY.
> 
> BTW if panic attacks/existential crises bother you, scroll down to after the first break. The attack doesn't really have super much to do with the story - mostly just the fact that he has it at all.

There was nothing on the walls. It reminded him of the Underground and how his walls were so barren. So barren. So barren. They seemed like they were endlessly expanding, _expanding_ , yet drawing him in all at once. Claustrophobia. Emptiness. The sins are crawling, there’s a thickness to his tongue, a feeling like a whole wad of cotton balls being put in his mouth. Needing too much, needing too little. Stress, stress, _stress._

B r e a t h e.

Comes out shaky, try another one, count to five on the inhale, count to ten on the exhale. Try to ignore the stabbing, burning, gnarled roots taking purchase in his skull, muffled static, screaming, silence, so much silence. His eye burns and he raises a hand to it, palm pressing against it with more force than necessary, the curve of his palm sinking into the socket slightly. Need to relieve the pressure, it’s too much, too much, _too much_.

Breathe once more.

But he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe, smoke filling the lungs he doesn’t have and the phantom organs burn, and they twist, and they _writhe_ , and his breath gets caught in them, burning, wheezing, shaking. His other hand has come to clutch at the side of his skull, phalanges clawing at the slightly weathered bone, digging, _scratching_ , the noise filling his head as he tries so desperately to drown out nothing and everything all at once.

The burning gets worse, and he’s crackling with energy, the very air around him is heavy and thick and saturated with magic, things lifting off of available surfaces and floating in mid-air. Is this what death feels like?

 ** _No_** , a voice reminds him, calm and steady in the back of his mind, **_you know what death feels like. This isn’t death._**

There’s a small sound, a distressed sound, animalistic and unrefined, and there’s black creeping at the edges of his vision. A pencil snaps, and he can finally get a breath in, his ribcage moving up and down so violently that he almost feels dizzy. Breathing is a placebo effect, really. He can choose to either do it or not, but having lived with and loved a human made it so difficult to remember how not to. It was comforting to them – to humans in general, really – to have a partner breathe. Especially because when he did sleep he didn’t move a muscle (ha. Ha ha).

The walls were barren. They reminded him of Snowdin. They reminded him of false security, of hope, of isolation. He remembers how all of monsterkind felt when the first human Soul was taken, and of the following five.

Sans distinctly remembers how none of them got all that far, but how he was judge, jury, and executioner for the one that did.

 ** _Two_** , he’s reminded.

The floating objects clatter to the floor, and Sans turns onto his side, blinking owlishly at the bare wall next to his bed from his small nest of blankets and pillows. He hadn’t yet slept, and at this rate he was certain that it would be more than a few days until he was feeling even remotely better. He’d almost slipped up at dinner, his food floating off of his plate. He’d had to play it off like he was too lazy to even use his utensils.

**_Make another joke about it, Sans. Another joke about yourself._ **

_‘*shut up, shut up, shut **up**.’_

He closes his eyes, slowly, but finds no comfort in it. Sleep eludes him.

 

* * *

 

 

“*mornin’ pap,” Sans greets. Papyrus is sitting at the kitchen table working on a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle in the communal dining area. He receives an enthusiastic, albeit distracted, greeting in return and makes his way to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Nothing seems appealing, but he knows that he should eat something. Grimacing to no one but himself, he grabs a bottle of ketchup from the fridge, letting loose some of his magic so that he could eat it. He knows better than to try and eat human food straight up, it only ends in disaster.

Which essentially equates to “a very annoying mess”.

“*do you want anything?” He finds himself questioning, and Papyrus looks over his way. The smile is back, and it’s easy to force it. It’s something that he’s been practicing for a very long time. He wiggles the bottle in his hand, offering a pun. “*i was thinking that i needed to _ketchup_ on some things.”

That elicits a groan from Papyrus, and Sans watches the way that his brother’s mouth quirks in a semblance of a smile. It almost seems relieved, and Sans’ stomach churns once more. He knows his brother is perceptive, but it still stings.

“DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO DO THIS FIRST THING IN THE MORNING?”

“*you smiled.”

“I DID AND I HATE IT.”

He doesn’t, but Sans lets it go for the sake of it. No use drawing more attention to the fact. It was slightly flattering, and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Popping open the ketchup bottle, he parts his mouth, squeezing some of it onto his tongue. It dissolves instantly, and the taste is comforting, even if he’s not really feeling it. He licks his bony sort-of lips, kicking the fridge closed lazily and heading over to the table. He doesn’t sit down – he’s not completely ready for prolonged interaction yet, especially with Papyrus clearly sensing something’s up – but merely stands at the side, looking over the puzzle flayed out over the table. When he’d entered the room, only the bare minimum of the outside of the thing was done, but now the entirety of the outside was done.

Papyrus works quickly, that’s for damn sure.

“*great work there, bro. you’re the best at puzzles.” The words come out mechanically, but he means it.

“YOU’D BE GREAT, TOO, IF YOU ONLY TRIED,” comes the coaxing response, and Sans doesn’t expect it. It’s both glowing praise and a stab to the heart he doesn’t have, but he keeps his grin plastered on, eyes half lidded in his usual, lazy façade. Sans shrugs his shoulders, and Papyrus frowns at him. “OH COME ON. YOU DO GREAT WORK WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING SO LAZY. …SPEAKING OF, I DO HOPE THAT YOU HAVEN’T BEEN MISTREATING YOUR ROOM. I DON’T THINK A BUNCH OF SMELLY SOCKS ARE A GREAT WAY TO INTRODUCE YOURSELF TO OUR NEW HUMAN FRIENDS.”

Lazy. His mind becomes fixated on the word, trying to coax new ones out of it as though it’s a miraculous grab bag that held every issue he’s ever had inside of it.

_‘*lazy, useless, worthless, couldn’t protect anyone. **failure**.’_

**_You can say that again._ **

“*i don’t exactly have much in the way of socks anymore,” the shorter skeleton points out, shrugging his shoulders again while he focuses on the way that he needs his voice to come out in that same baritone drawl and not be affected by anything. It wouldn’t do him any favors if Papyrus figured out that something was wrong. That was a whole can of worms he didn’t have the courage to open, lest they explode all over the middle of his boat whilst he’s stranded in the pacific.

He needed to ration that shit.

“AH. THAT’S TRUE,” Papyrus offers as way of apology. “DO YOU WANT TO STAY AND HELP ME WITH THIS?” He gestures at the puzzle he’s put on pause for a moment while he converses, and Sans shakes his head, keeping that dumb grin plastered on his face.

“*you look like you’ve got it handled, bro. but… thanks. like i said before, i got stuff to do.”

“OH. SO THAT HADN’T BEEN A PUN. WELL… NOT ENTIRELY ANYWAY.” He shifts his gaze to the side, giving the impression that he didn’t know what to make of that joke now. The smile Sans has turns a touch more genuine at that response. “I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN DOING WHATEVER IT IS YOU HAVE TO DO.”

“*me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t entirely been a lie that Sans had something to do, he’d just been putting it off. He walks up to the door of one of the offices in the large, Victorian-style estate, a hand in his pocket and the other one clutching a half-finished bottle of ketchup. After a moment of staring, he takes his hand out of his pocket and knocks on the door, bony fingers sounding hollow and louder than intended on the heavy door. After a few moments it opens, and standing on the other side is a guard clutching a rifle in the ready position. The first time he’d been here, he hadn’t known what a gun was other than through snippets of media that’d fallen down into Waterfall. Now, he knew perfectly well what it was, and he stiffened at the sight, wary.

This was the first time he’d been called to the office in this context, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Come on in, _sir_ ,” the guard manages, hand clutching the rifle more firmly. Sans could tell that the man was afraid of him – probably his first time truly up close with such an unsettling monster. No doubt he’d been there during the talks with Toriel, Asgore, and possibly Undyne. He steps to the side, and Sans finds himself walking into the room as though drawn in by his very Soul, stopping in the middle of the room behind the chairs. He had no intention of taking a seat.

Behind the massive oak desk, a woman sat in a large chair, her fingers intwined and forearms resting against the edge of the table. She unfolds her index fingers to point at him, and while it makes him uncomfortable, it seemed more like a habit than a threat. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel the buzz of magic in his system as though it had been. This was very uncomfortable.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” the woman tells him, but there’s no warmth there. She seems as uncomfortable and out of her element as he himself is. “I’m Colonel Kochek, and this,” she gestures to the human next to her, and Sans can’t for the life of him tell whether or not it’s a man or a woman. He decides he’ll stick with the name and gender neutral pronouns, as everyone does with Frisk. “This is First Lieutenant Adams. We were meaning to speak with you about something… troubling.”

“Do you recall what happened at 0200 last night?” Adams questions, and Sans finds himself tensing. “There appeared to be very unusual occurrences in your room.”

He takes a breath, and then opens his mouth to explain.


	3. The Scientific Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is fucking stupid. He almost gets himself killed more than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like this is going to be an 8 chapter story thus far, but you guys know me. Anything is possible.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at http://imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com if you're interested. I do some stuff there.

The two nameless guards in the room, Adams, and Kochek all train their eyes on him. He can hear the way that one of the two guards’ shift their grip on their gun, seeming to clutch it tighter as though he’s still a massive threat. To be fair, he probably was. If he was fast enough, he could disable the guns, or at least wrench them from the guards, and then ‘port away before they could get their hands on him. But beyond that, where would he go? He’d become a fugitive, and could be putting his friends and family in danger.

Sans puts the break on that train of thought immediately, forcibly relaxing his stance into something less stiff and threatening, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped while a slipper-clad foot scuffs at the floor.

“*i had a magi-graine,” he says eventually. It’s sort of true.

“What in the hell is a magi-graine,” Kochek questions gruffly, but she’s trying to also soften her tone to some degree to also appear less threatening. Neither one of them wants to be the one to trigger another war. The only solace that Sans feels comes from the fact that humans appear to have lost a lot of their power and control of their Souls.

“*magical migraine,” he replies, shrugging. “*i can see those wheels turnin’, corporal, keep your cool, i’m well on my way to explainin’ things.” She gives an irritated huff, but bites her tongue, and Sans makes direct eye contact when he squirts ketchup into his open mouth, _relishing_ in the way her expression screws up in awe and disgust.

“*see, it’s like this. monsters are mostly made up of magic. not every monster can harness their magic in the more traditional fashion that you humans seem to think it’s used for. this ain’t always some harry potter stuff.

“*it just so happens that while there’s some monsters who can use it and some can’t, the power of those who can use it varies just as widely. i got a little too much unrefined juice, s’all. gotta unleash it every so often or it builds up. gives me a headache generally, but sometimes it goes a little haywire if it builds up too much. i ain’t exactly been using any of it since we got up to the surface, outside of making sure i can consume your provided food.”

Adams and Kochek both seem to consider this. Most information about monsters had been destroyed out of spite when they’d been sealed behind the barrier, as no one ever expected that they’d manage to make their way out of it. Still, though, there were government archives filled with information for this exact purpose. Mainly tactical information in the case of another war.

“You can’t consume human food?” Adams questions, but their mouth snaps closed when Kochek gives them a look.

“While that is a valid question, First Lieutenant, we have bigger fish to fry.” She leans forward, brows furrowed. She must be middle aged, with reddish hair pulled up into a bun, a streak of white coming up from her temple to meld with it. Sans isn’t sure if it’s because of her age, though – it seems too stark and out of place. Her green-gray eyes are piercing as though she can stare into his very soul. “What, exactly,” she questions, “are you capable of, Sans?”

Sans meets her piercing stare with a blank one, the lights fading from his eyes and his mouth widening in a mockery of a smile. “*wouldn’t you like to know.” The tone of his words are not filled with his usual brand of humor.

**_You’re being stupid._ **

“Yes. I would.” The words hold the promise of a threat in them, and her brows furrow further, lips settling into a thin line. One of the guards shifts to Sans’ left, but doesn’t move any further than that. They seem ready, and the tension in the air would suffocate a lesser being.

Sans can feel the way his eye starts to blaze with blue, and this time he doesn’t fight it. The pounding headache is back, and everything is awash with blue. He can see the Soul of the woman in front of him. He thinks it should be red, or orange, but it’s green. He almost scoffs at the sight. ‘Kindness’?

But then a thought strikes him. What if everything they’d known about Souls was incorrect? What if the color had nothing to do with the nature up here on the surface? It’s intriguing, at the very least.

He’s so deep in his contemplation that he doesn’t notice the way that Kochek and Adams flinch at the blue vapor trail coming up from his eye like smoke. Sans slowly takes his hands out of his pockets, flexing them threateningly, and Kochek looks as though she’s ready to get out of her seat, but she’s stopped when he plucks a couple of the pens off of the desk and brings them over to him.

**_Seriously, stop this idiocy._ **

His face splits into an actual smile, and he starts “juggling” the pens and bottle of ketchup. “*party tricks.”

The absurdity of his response has all four humans staring at him dumbly.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

Sans balances all three pens end on end on the tip of a bony finger. “*i do party tricks.”

Kochek stands so fast that it nearly makes the grin leave his face, her callused hands slamming against the top of the desk. “ _Do you think this is a fucking game?_ ” She roars, and Sans knows he’s fucked up.

**_You’re going to get everyone fucking killed._ **

“*i have what you might refer to as _telekinesis_ ,” he drawls, and he’s careful now because she looks like she’s fuming, and he thinks he might’ve heard the safety come off of one or both of the rifles. They’re pointed right at him.

“Are you, or are you not a danger to us?” She’s not happy. At this point Sans thinks Kochek could have Undyne herself quaking in her boots. He can feel sweat bead on the top of his skull, and he delicately takes the pens in his hand, walking over to put them back in the mug on her desk.

“*yes,” he answers finally, less than a foot away from her. A rifle is cocked. “*you’re a bigger threat to me, though. i’m not going to risk war with the humans. not after everything we’ve gone through. I’m not going to lie, though, the magi-graines are becoming a little… uncontrollable.”

“Is that a _threat_?”

**_S a n s._ **

 

* * *

 

 

Sans was lucky he’d gotten out of there alive, and he was certain he’d be scolded for it later from Toriel. Judging by his reckless behavior, though, it wasn’t just depression and shit he had to deal with, but now he was edging his way to existential nihilism. Great.

**_Just another drop in the bucket._ **

It had been worth it, though, as now he’d be able to unleash some of his magic in demonstrations for the human scientists. He’d been the one that suggested it, in fact, because he’d mentioned the fact that some monsters were prone to buildups of magical energy and it could lead to ill health. Sans himself was especially prone to it with his sheer amount of power in such a weak, defenseless frame. He legitimately couldn’t handle his own output.

There was some sort of a delicious irony in it. He had gained his powers through sharp influxes to his magical energy, and now there was so much that he had to expel it because he couldn’t handle it. In most situations he could handle it just fine, but after a RESET it all went haywire.

Problem: *too much magic after a RESET. sends systems haywire trying to deal with it.  
Hypothesis: *energy at the time of the RESET added to previous self’s reserves.  
Method: *requires more testing.  
Status: *highly plausible, regardless.

He’s shoved forward by a guard, roughly, and he stumbles, catching himself and biting his tongue against saying something to make his situation worse. He’s being led down to the basement to be able to speak with some scientists. He’ll be monitored with a gun to his head while he uses his magic to ensure that he doesn’t hurt anyone.

Sans supposes he deserves this.

He doesn’t make eye contact with Toriel or Frisk when he passes them in the halls, though, but with the way his eye is blazing he can see her Soul and feel the way her magic lurches at the sight of him being held at gunpoint while he walks down the hallway, and hears the way her voice breaks during the gasp she emits.

Sans squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, knowing that he can explain later. That doesn’t stop his Soul from clenching almost painfully in his chest, though.

 

* * *

 

 

When he goes to the scientists, it turns out that they’re not going to be conducting the experiments down there at all. He’s instead led up to the shooting range they have set up in a nearby field. He’s not going to lie, it feels nice to be under the open sky, and his magic crackles at the potential he has in such a wide open space. He has to reign it in, though, lest he accidentally summon his Blasters. That would involve more than a little bit of explaining. He’d have to let out his extra energy using nothing more than telekinesis.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to port a bunch of times until he was able to sleep. He knows for a fact that he hasn’t slept since before leaving the Underground. In the original timeline, he’d slept last night, and the night before to try and recharge, but with the added stress of the RESET he hadn’t been able to do anything of the sort.

Sans was well aware that he was running on nothing but magic, fumes, and a bottle of ketchup.

That didn’t stop him from being eager to let loose some, though.

There’s a small bomb shelter off to the side, but it seems more like a munitions shed than anything, and one of the scientists beckon for Sans to join her as she goes to it. He follows behind, hands in his pockets, and catches her casting glances at him, trying to be discrete about it. It would be endearing in any other situation, if only because there didn’t seem to be any fear. Wariness, probably, but mostly a curiosity that didn’t seem like she wanted to strap him down to a table and slice into him to find out how he worked.

He could deal with that.

“*take a picture, it lasts longer,” Sans teases, and grins slightly when her cheeks flare up with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“*hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s cool. you seem like one of the tamer humans i’ve met so far.” It’s awkward saying that, as he’s met hundreds, _thousands_ of them, technically, but in this timeline he’s only really met the ones from the estate. And in that context, yeah. She seemed pretty chill. He holds out a hand to her when they stop in front of the door, while she’s in the middle of fishing out a key. She pauses, staring dumbstruck at his hand, before realizing she’s staring and shakes it. It takes her an extra moment to remember to use her left hand to do so, as Sans himself is left handed. “*i’m sans. sans the skeleton.”

The handshake lasts a beat too long, if only so that she can run her thumb over his knuckles in fascination. He’s reminded vaguely of you when she does this. “I’m Dr. Maria Geer. I wish we could have, ah, met under better circumstances.” She finally releases his hand, cheeks still burning, and turns to unlock the door. “I had the idea that maybe we could drag some of these over there, and you could show us some things? If I’d known what was happening, I’d gotten a variety of objects from the lab to test out, but we’ll have to do with a bunch of clunky ammunition.”

“*so, what were you thinking of grabbing?” She points out a couple of things, and Sans lifts the barrels. It both calms and persists the tempest in his mind, and Maria claps excitedly, looking like Papyrus on Christmas. She gushes over him, and he clears his throat in an awkward, almost bashful, fashion before they head back to the targets.

For the next hour he’s studied as he performs dexterity and endurance tests, similarly being tested for the speed and distance with which he could chuck objects with his magic. It was remarkably mundane, and the only thing that caught his interest was trying to delicately separate a shell into its different components with his magic alone. He hadn’t thought to use it for applications such as this. It could potentially be incredibly useful. Especially if he ever gets back into science.

When they’re done, he’s soaked with sweat and feeling exhausted, but he’s buzzing with nervous energy, and he’s certain that he still won’t be able to sleep. Sans swears that he can feel the bottoms of his eye sockets darkening as he leans over, hands on his femurs as he breathes heavily. He hasn’t had this much of a magical workout since –

His thoughts come to a screeching halt, and there’s a hitch in his breathing.

**_No, come on. Say it._ **

He refuses to answer.

**_Remember the fact that you slaughtered that child more than once._ **

Something about the way that the voice echoes so prominently in his mind then causes him to become slightly dizzy and he almost pitches forward before catching himself with a magical hand grabbing the back of his shirt. It wasn’t a conscious action, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. Breaking out of his reverie, he glances up at Maria and her furrowed brows. Her mouth moves for a few moments, before it cuts through that she’s trying to communicate with him.

“Sans, are you alright? You’re not looking too hot,” she offers delicately, and Sans gives a short laugh.

“*i’m from a town called snowdin, of course i’m not,” he tells her, tongue feeling thick and mouth feeling like it’s filled with cotton just like it had been last night. His magic flares up briefly at the thought – a reflexive bit of panic, and Maria draws her hand back as though burned, hissing and clutching at her wrist. Sans’ eyes widen. “*shit, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean –“

He feels a rifle barrel at the back of his head, and he freezes. Maria looks horrified. “Put that fucking gun away, soldier! I’m fine! It was like – static electricity.”

“*i’ve been told i have an electric personality,” Sans breathes out, quietly, and the barrel lowers while Maria shows off her hand to the guard. There was nothing there. She turns to him, snorting and disbelieving that someone could be so stupid as to crack a joke with a gun pointed at them. “*you’re not in danger,” he amends, “it’s just uncomfortable. your soul is just fine.”

There’s a pause.

“…What can you tell me about Souls?”

“*not as much as i thought i was able to.”

“Let's all go grab lunch, and then you can tell us everything.”


	4. Coping Skills (Or Lack Thereof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is shit at coping.
> 
> There be science and sads.

It turns out that despite nearly getting himself killed three times in one day, Sans was proving himself useful to the ragtag group of scientists and military personnel that kept them captive. It wasn’t good to mince words – as comfortable as they were in the estate, everyone having their own rooms but sharing the same space, they were still essentially prisoners. At first, Sans had felt incredibly uncomfortable sharing information with the humans, but over time it became a necessary evil.

Sans and science didn’t exactly have a good, working relationship anymore.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, he was remarkably intelligent and very good at his craft, but he’d had a falling out with it many… many years ago. Well before Frisk ever came into the Underground. Not since –

He brings a hand to his skull, the beginnings of another splitting headache coming on. Sans was worried about himself to some degree. For the most part, he figured he deserved it. Why? He wasn’t entirely sure, but the feeling that he does and should be forced to endure it was there, like nagging static from a television in his peripherals. If he tried to look directly at it, it slinked to the sides once more, always just out of reach. Even so, though, this time around he wasn’t doing very well at all. He’d barely eaten, and sleep was a distant memory. The one time he did manage to nap, he woke up in a blind panic, things floating around his room again, casting disconcerting shadows on the walls of his _barebones_ bedroom.

He couldn’t bring himself to smile at that joke.

Sans knew that he was in trouble, to say the least. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Alphys had begun to work with both the humans and himself in the lab, sharing her own knowledge. It took a lot of the pressure off, but it was still awkward. They had a lot of history, and it was much fresher for her than it was for Sans. Neither of them really knew what to say to each other anymore.

It was a big change from the ease of friendship that came from years of being on the surface together. They’d hardly ever been alone then, but they could still talk without it being really fucking weird. Here, now, only a week on the surface, she flinched whenever he addressed her. The guilt of what had happened in the Underground hadn’t yet abated to acceptable levels.

To cope with everything that was going on, Sans began indulging in some less than healthy habits. Whereas before, his defeatist attitude had led to him lazing around a lot of the time, now he was awake, obsessing over anything and everything to keep from entering the slumber he’d earlier craved with all his might. He spent long nights in the lab, typing away at a provided laptop to try and compile all of his known information, occasionally glancing over at a piece of paper which had a pencil poised, controlled with magic as he scribbled down nonsensical notes that only he’d be able to decipher – small diagrams, formulas, and things he needed to remember for another section.

He was going through his week much like a zombie, but he always tried to put on his best face for his friends and family. After that day where Frisk and Toriel caught him being escorted via a rifle, though, he’d been watched like a hawk. It was exhausting to keep up the charade, but he didn’t want to worry them even further.

Sans reaches up and rubs at his eye socket to try and rid himself of some of the ache, his hand moving to rub at his face afterward. The ache this time doesn’t come from a magi-graine, but instead comes from general exhaustion and how long he’s been staring at the laptop screen. He’s been working on something of a medical textbook, despite him being a physicist and not a monster biologist, but right now both he and Alphys were the only ones with any sort of knowledge about the subject that were on the surface. It didn’t go into great depth because of that fact, but merely outlined some major differences between human and monster biology.

The peace talks were going fairly well, but right now the biggest issue was how to ensure widespread integration of monsters into a human culture. It was a heated topic, and it was always difficult to best figure out how to go about it, as everyone is certain that not all the monsters will want to congregate in the same locale for the rest of time. If they go out beyond the area surrounding Mt. Ebott, which was right now looking like a guaranteed area for monster inhabitants, what would happen if they got sick? There needed to be a way to ensure that monster foods were obtainable, as well as medical services, especially if the monsters in question had no access to a physical manifestation of their magic, or had a very low threshold.

In a way, this timeline might be one of the better ones. Sans now had the direct ability to make the transition to surface life easier for everyone involved.

Glancing over to his right, he eyes the human anatomy textbook with both interest and disdain. He’d learned a great deal just being around you, and had read up on it in interest before, but doing so in such a detached, clinical nature was… exhausting. It was so precise and detached. He was more of a hands on kind of guy, and this was remarkably tedious work. He’d been staring at the same couple of paragraphs for the last twenty minutes. This was the part he was dreading wanting to discuss – it was about Souls.

_‘as far as monsters are aware, human souls are divided into seven sub-categories, based on colors and predominant traits. these sub-categories are as follows: red and the associated trait of determination, orange is bravery, yellow is justice, green is kindness, light blue (cyan) is patience, blue is integrity, and purple is perseverance. this information comes from old knowledge, passed on through generations of monsters, and from what we’ve observed through the human souls we’d gathered to try and break the magical barrier sealing us beneath mt. ebott. each sub-category seemed to hold moderately different ideals, and therefore much different properties when engaged._

_i say ‘as far as we’re aware’ as we did have such a limited knowledge base to begin with, and we had no reference to the differences between the souls of children and adults in humans. through my time on the surface, i’m beginning to wonder if there’s any truth to this at all. yes, all souls do have a color, but i’m unsure if the color has a corresponding trait, or if it was merely a coincidence. observing the souls of those on the surface is proving to be much more difficult than expected, as the defining personality traits and soul colors do not seem to match the majority of the time. more research is required before making any further hypotheses or conclusions on the matter._

_monster souls are much different than those of human origin. though they all appear to be all uniform at first glance, upon the barrier’s disruption and the subsequent travel to the surface by both myself and my colleagues, our souls seem to have undergone a metamorphosis of sorts. while in the underground, all monster souls are white, inverted heart shapes, but they have begun taking on a distinctly more human shape and color-scheme. my hypothesis is that sunlight has a transformative effect on the nature of souls in general, and research into this should be an utmost priority to figure out if there are any ill effects, or if perhaps monsters will gain similar properties to their souls as those that humans possess._

_all monsters are made of magic, regardless of whether or not they’re able to harness it. those that can harness it don’t harness it directly from their bodies, but rather borrow the energy from their soul itself. magic is an extension of a monster’s soul, and given enough time magic use can be effectively refined and used for anything from cooking, to self-defence, to something resembling telekinesis. those with advanced knowledge of magic and a higher reserve through their soul can even create things with it to some degree, and it’ll have full range of motion and sensation. [note: try to explain this later. it’s complicated as hell. i’ll probably have to use my tongue as an source of explanation, but ehhh.]_

_both monsters and humans are capable of summoning their souls – causing them to appear outside of the body, at which point’_

Sans groans, resting his elbows on the table in front of the laptop and resting his face in his hands. This stupid textbook was going to be the death of him, and he can’t wait to get his work finished, so he can have Alphys look it over for errors and details he missed. This part of science was not his forte in the slightest, and it’ll be a relief just to have it be over and done with. Alphys is also doing her own work on the same topics, and when both parts are completed, they’ll be handed over to the humans for a complete work to be compiled from both, and then the first edition monsters vs human biology textbook will be complete. There’ll likely be a hundred new editions within the first six months of an actual monster doctor looking over it, he’s sure, but at least this gives the humans some idea of what they’re dealing with here.

Reaching over, Sans snags a bottle of beer that was left for him as a peace offering from Maria, along with a scolding that he was working too hard. Alcohol was… interesting, he’d found. Human alcohol, especially. It was much different than what there was back in the underground. Definitely harder-hitting. Not that he drank much to begin with, but he felt his magic buzz and crackle when he took sips of his drink, nursing it as he worked. There was a six pack on the floor next to the desk he was working at, half two bottles finished, and one newly started on. He should probably stop.

When he attempts to get back to work, he still does nothing but stare at the screen blankly, bringing the bottle to his mouth once more. What would you think, he wonders vaguely, if you saw him right now. He’d been avoiding looking in mirrors since the third day they’d been here. It’d been pretty bad. The undersides of his eye sockets were very dark now, and he had the owlish stare and slightly slower reaction times of someone suffering from severe sleep deprivation. And here he was sitting in a lab, writing something he can’t stand, for people he can’t trust farther than he can throw them physically, nursing a six pack of beer and getting kind of fucked up.

**_More than kind of. You’re a complete disgrace._ **

_‘*i guess i am pretty **boned** , huh?’_

The voice makes no response to that. Sans has gotten used to its presence at this point – it’s like his inner voice. His conscience of sorts, he thinks. It probably has something to do with how intense this RESET has been compared to the other ones, but it’s kind of nice having a presence there to make him feel less alone and trapped within his own thoughts, even if the things it says can be disconcerting at best.

He quickly saves his work, locking and shutting down the laptop for now before downing the rest of his beer. Honestly, he doesn’t even like the taste of it but a little drinking and self-deprecation never hurt anyone, right?

Cue rim shot, everyone laughs.

It’s not a very funny joke.

Getting up off of the chair, Sans stretches in a similar fashion to the way he’d seen you do it a thousand times before, finding some measure of comfort in the action. The world is buzzing and his limbs feel lighter, and he surmises that he must be at least some measure of buzzed. Probably a little too buzzed. He’d wrinkle his nose if he could, and decides to walk back to his room and lie down. He likely won’t sleep again tonight, but the alcohol is making him nervous because he just might.

The few times he’d had a rum and coke with you, he’d seen you get kind of giddy for a while, and then you subsequently end up getting very tired and have a good sleep afterwards.

He doesn’t want to sleep.

All this thinking about you has his chest twisting in a way that’s both pleasant and completely reprehensible simultaneously, and he begins to walk to try and clear his head. It’ll be a long time until he can see you again. Years from now. But he’s not entirely sure if he even wants to at this point. Well, ‘wants to’ should be replaced with ‘should’, because of course he wants to, but everything’s a mess and he’s a mess, and he’s been with you so many times only to have you be wrenched away from him in the end. He’s not sure if he can handle it. There’s a sense of constant paranoia, an exhaustion to having to find new and interesting ways to get to know you, to slowly get close to you when really? Sans would rather greet you with a sob and a kiss and get past all of the tentative stages. He’d been getting bolder every time as it was.

When he enters his room, he locks it behind him and walks over to the bed, sinking down onto the nest of blankets in the middle and curling in on himself. The walls are barren. It reminds him of Snowdin.

Despite all his efforts, he finds that his eyes are sliding shut. For the first time in a long time, his sleep is dreamless.

The next night, he drinks the other three beers, desperately hoping that it wasn’t a fluke. He’s so fucking tired.

He wakes up screaming, and vows never to drink again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I keep doing these things? I'm very upset with myself.
> 
> Also, I'm reminded of a quote from The Watchmen.
> 
> “Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, 'Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.' Man bursts into tears. Says, 'But doctor... I am Pagliacci.'"


	5. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toriel wants to have a talk with Sans. Frisk convinces him to open up about why he feels like shit.
> 
> Despite how crazy it all seems, she believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an example of a chapter that you have an idea for that completely changes when you write it. Honestly, I like this one way more than the concept. It's much less depressing. That's definitely an improvement!

“Hey, punks, guess what?” Undyne seems both proud and excited as she comes into the common area. Toriel had insisted that everyone sit down and drink tea, and Frisk had suggested a game of cards. So those two, Alphys, Sans, Papyrus, and Asgore were all attempting to play the game. Frisk was dominating the game, but Alphys wasn’t far behind. She’d been using her powers of deduction and counting cards, Sans was sure of it. Her small smile held a hint of deviousness in it. Sans was glad she was coming out of her shell more.

“H-Hey, Undyne,” Alphys beams at her girlfriend, and it’s so sickeningly sweet. Undyne walks over with a small bag, wrapping an arm around Alphys’ shoulders and drawing her close, revelling in the way her cheeks burned bright with color. “What’s that?”

“This,” Undyne says, puffing out her chest and holding up the bag, “is awesome.”

“UNDYNE, YOU’RE MAKING THE SMALL HUMAN UNCOMFORTABLE WITH GIDDY ENERGY,” Papyrus scolds as though he’s not also squirming in his seat, wide-eyed like Frisk is. “WHAT IS IN THE BAG?”

The fish monster’s grin is positively devious, and she lets go of Alphys so that she can drop the bag in the middle of the table. It makes a clunking sound, followed by several clicks as things in it shift around. The lets anticipation build up until everyone is leaning forward slightly before opening it and revealing their confiscated phones. There’s a mix of emotions from the group – first relief, then joy, then unease. Or at least Toriel, Asgore, and Sans felt unease.

“Oh LIGHTEN UP,” Undyne says, rolling her eyes at the display. “I didn’t _take_ them, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re _allowed_ to have them. Guys, we’re moving up in the world! The humans are finally recognizing our sheer –“

“* _monstrosity_?” Sans finishes for her, unhelpfully. His face is stretched into a grin. It’s slightly strained. Undyne punches him in the arm for it, and Frisk breaks out into silent giggling.

“OUR SHEER DEDICATION AND GREATNESS?” Papyrus offers instead, and he gets a rather painful-sounding high five for it.

“EXACTLY! Papyrus gets it!”

“I’m sure they just, ah, realized that there’s nothing all that s-special about them,” Alphys murmurs, and Sans snorts slightly at the comment, as it had been quiet enough for only him to hear it. He wasn’t sure she intended for him to, but it wasn’t as though it was a negative one, she seemed rather pleased by her girlfriend’s enthusiasm, if nothing else.

Everyone grabs their phones, but Sans is the last one to grab his own, and he looks it over, unsure of what to do now that he had it. At first, he’d been remarkably uncomfortable without it around, as with every time they’re on the surface, the two of you would text each other when you weren’t hanging out. Good morning texts, texts on known breaks of just a “hey, how’s work going?”

It wasn’t excessive, or obsessive, it was just nice, and it was domestic. He squeezes his phone a little tightly in his hand, just staring at it, before he shoves it in his pocket and finishes the rest of his tea. It was Earl Gray with a touch of honey – the way you’d always drink it. He has a passing thought of how weird he was being, but it’s shoved out of his head when it’s his turn to play. The game had picked up again, thankfully. It was a nice distraction.

He has the vague desire to make chocolate chip cookies, though.

When the game is over, Toriel mentions offhandedly that she wants to talk, and Sans doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. He gets up and follows her anyway. Frisk follows closely behind to be moral support. They know they’re the only other one to remember. The most they’d gotten out of anyone else was once when they visited Undyne back at her house after a RESET and she said she remembered them as a friend.

But that was it.

Frisk themselves can barely remember everything that’s happened, and that was hard enough. They couldn’t imagine how Sans felt.

 

* * *

 

 

They were allowed on the grounds without supervision now, which was a nice step up. The humans had realized that they were no threat, and Sans was more than glad that there wasn’t going to be anyone listening in on their conversation. The three of them wander in silence towards the gardens to one of the benches set up. The area was surrounded by high hedges and gardens and held a distinct feeling of privacy and comfort. Toriel was forever fascinated by the beauty of the surface, and natural weather patterns. It was pretty cute.

Sans had felt that way, too, once, but he’d been on the surface for so long that the novelty had ebbed.

He plucks a flower from the garden and reaches up on his tip toes to put it behind her ear, marvelling at the wide smile and flushed cheeks he gets in return for his actions. Frisk grins, but doesn’t tease him. They have vague memories of a sweet human whose smile turned Sans to mush, of hesitant hands struggling to keep up with them while they sign, and the endearing mistakes of a beginner as they taught them ASL.

Frisk reaches out and takes Sans’ hand in theirs, giving it a squeeze. Sans gives them a glance, not sure what brought that on, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He offers a genuine smile and squeezes their hand in turn. Toriel brings a hand to her face to cover her mouth and flushed cheeks as she grins at the sight of the two of them.

They settle on the bench, and Frisk wedges their way between the two adults, smiling when Sans scritches as their scalp affectionately. Toriel, meanwhile, fidgets with both hands in her lap, unsure of how to start the conversation, so Sans helps her out. It’s inevitable, anyway. Might as well get it over with.

“*so, what’s up, tori?”

“The sky,” she responds cheekily, looking up at it. That earns her a chuckle. “But, really. This is… difficult for me to ask.”

“*shoot.”

A sigh. “Are you alright, Sans? Please answer truthfully. It would do you no favors to dodge the subject this time. It is just that… you seem so different since we’ve been here. You lost a lot of your lustre. I can sense that your Soul is in discomfort.” Toriel offers a smile, but it seems awkward; strained, even.

 _‘Tell her.’_ Frisk signs at him, frowning. _‘You need to talk about something at least. Even if you don’t say everything.’_

“Tell me what, exactly?” She’s using her motherly disapproval tone, and Frisk stiffens. “And what are you saying, my child? Do you know what’s going on with him?”

A vague shrug is their response. _‘Sort of.’_

Sans sighs heavily, reaching up to rub at his face for the umpteenth time since the RESET. He pinches at his nasal bone, and offers up a “*she wouldn’t believe me, anyway” which gets him a rough nudge in the ribs by a small elbow that causes him to grunt and give Frisk a dirty look he doesn’t entirely mean.

“Come now, Sans, I don’t think that –“

“*tori, listen. i – hmm. listen, it’s like this.” He struggles through what he’s going to say, but ends up giving a frustrated sigh when he can’t bring himself to do it. It just seems pointless to even try. He’d tried during the first couple of RESETs to figure out what happened, and why everything plays out the same way each time and he was the only person to remember. It’s exhausting to try and explain, only to then be forced to do it the next time, and the next time. Sure, Tori would know now, but how long would it be until it happened again? How many times would they have to go through this?

How many times would he?

His expression slips out of the fake grin, and he looks so tired and so hopeless. Toriel reaches over and cups Sans’ skull in both hands, tipping his head up so she can look at him. She’s very clearly concerned, and he can’t help but feel like a steaming pile of garbage for messing with the goat monster’s head like this.

“*i’m just so tired,” he says, and he means it. “*i don’t know if i can keep doing this.” He offers a “*sorry, kid” when Frisk stiffens in alarm, hands reaching up to let loose a flurry of apologies.

“*it’s not your fault.”

_‘But it **is**.’_

“*do you really think we should be burdening your mom with this crap, though?” He feels the way her grip on his face tightens, her expression bordering on unreadable while he converses with Frisk. He gets a hesitant shrug in return.

_‘What’s the worst that could happen?’_

At that, Sans snorts, drawing away so that he can laugh. It’s not a bubbling happy sound, it’s not the series of guffaws that you used to be able to reduce him to before he snorted in that stupid, unattractive way, a drink occasionally squirting out of his nose when it was ill-timed. It’s a hollow sound that sounds almost manic. Still, though, he’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“Sans…”

“*i’m sorry, tor. i really am. i just.” He rests his elbows on his knees when he comes down from his laughing fit, his face resting in his hands. He looks a lot smaller than he actually is. “*this is all so much, you know? it’s not the humans, or the being on the surface, or – or… _fuck_.” He has to pause and clutch at his temples as another headache comes on. More memories flood him, and he’s stuck trying to breathe and get through it. Frisk seems to take over the conversation, and he can only hear one side of it, but he figures that Frisk is attempting to explain the situation for him.

“What do you mean ‘this isn’t the first time’? In what context is – Slow down, Frisk, I can barely – What are you –“

“*this isn’t the first time we’ve been on the surface, toriel,” Sans murmurs from his spot, still hunched over. His eyes have gone dark. “*this is the eighth. we’ve been here eight times, you just don’t remember. no one remembers.”

He looks up in time to see the way Toriel sucks in a breath when Frisk signs _‘Time resets every time I die.’_

* * *

 

 

Sans had been answering questions for a few hours, and was eventually able to leave because Toriel had needed time to process everything. He couldn’t blame her. She had seemed conflicted until he told her about you, about the constellation Orion and how that’s how you always knew how to find it, to how difficult it was to rent an apartment on the surface, to the way your eyes crinkled in the corners when you laughed at his jokes, the feeling of your heartbeat. These details weren’t something someone could make up, and the way he painted a picture of life on the surface had her slowly coming to believe him.

Sans was a fibber and a joker, but he wasn’t a liar. At least, he hadn’t been about anything. He just omitted details that would cause others pause or worry. Like his command over time and space. Or his crippling mental problems.

Toriel had inexplicably found out about the latter, however, and she couldn’t imagine how Sans had been able to cope through countless RESETs on his own. It was… difficult. Talking to her about the deaths of the human children. Of Frisk’s countless deaths. Of Chara’s Soul, corrupted by the circumstances, whispering into the back of Frisk’s mind. Frisk quickly assures their mother that Chara wasn’t always whispering such terrible things.

Sans thinks they might’ve cracked from the sheer amount of RESETs as well. Lord knows that Flowey did, too. He tries not to think about how he and Frisk are next.

Or about why Frisk’s timelines are the only ones he remembers, despite Frisk mentioning that Flowey had once talked about Sans being the cause of many a RESET for him. The idea makes him uncomfortable. It changed a lot of things. Clutching his phone in his hand where it’s shoved in his pocket, he resolves to make this this one of the better RESETs he’s gone through. Despite everything, he would find you.


	6. FREEDOM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first complete lack of sads.
> 
> There's a meeting with Kochek and a press conference that goes horribly wrong. Sans loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love this chapter. Thank you to nakajimagardenar for your help with a couple things and generally being an inspiration. This nonsense is for you.

It’s been a long several months. It’s always a long several months, but these ones felt even longer than usual, or maybe it was because Sans was wanting so badly just to get out and stretch his legs. The closest he’d managed to a legitimate teleport was a few blinks in the garden by himself – that was more or less the “technical term” for his quick in-and-outs at a very close distance, like he does to dodge oncoming attacks. It was remarkably comforting, even if it wasn’t useful. He couldn’t let himself potentially lose his grasp on inter-dimensional hopping, though, just in case.

He’s just popped back in to the spot next to where he was just in time to hear his phone ring. It’s still startling to hear it do so, and Sans casts his pocket a funny glance before grabbing it and opening it.

“*you’ve reached monstrosity, the surface’s number one monster on human sex line. i’m not interested, but how can i help you?” He barely manages to keep his voice level, grinning as he remembers making prank calls with you on the surface, answering phones with “hello, liquor store,” or “hey, this is KFC, is this an order for pickup or delivery” or even making the famous running refrigerator joke. There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Sans is in the process of pulling the phone away so he can check who called him, when there’s startled laughter on the other end of the line.

“Sans, get your bony ass in my office,” comes the voice, and Sans jerks back in surprise at the voice.

“*y-yes, ma’am,” he manages after a moment, baffled at the sound of Kochek’s voice on the other end of his phone, and further baffled when she laughs harder and hangs up the phone. This can’t be real, right? Oh Christ, he’d just made a complete ass of himself. He never expected that the corporal would call him of all things and tell him to get to her office. He really should have checked the caller ID first before trying to awkwardly wig out one of his friends.

Uh, at least she laughed?

Ohhh, he was so dead.

Sans takes a breath, and then heads inside, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The door is already open when he gets there, things being a lot more amiable nowadays between the monsters and humans. The cameras had been taken out of their bedrooms, and the monsters had been relaying information down to the Underground, informing their fellows about how peace talks were going, and how long it would approximately take before they could start their journey to the surface. For real this time.

A half a year wasn’t much time in the grand scheme of things. They’d wait that long if it meant their freedom, especially as they’d been trapped for generations. There was still a bit of guilt gnawing at the small surface party, though. None of them felt overtly comfortable being able to experience the novelties surface life brought while there were still thousands and thousands trapped underneath them.

And that was just under Mt. Ebott itself – only monsters from North America being there. What of those overseas? Where were they trapped? Would they be freed, too? Sans hadn’t thought of that until the last timeline, where you’d brought up a valid point. It’d seemed strange that “all” monsters were trapped under a mountain in North America. Wouldn’t some be able to get away? And what about those had? Maybe they developed ways to blend in with humans. You’d asked him many questions that he didn’t have the answers to, but got his mind churning anyway.

He’d only just remembered. Maybe he could ask Kochek.

Sans only realizes he’s staring into nothingness when a voice shakes him out of his reverie. “Come on in, Sans, don’t worry. The circumstances much better than the last time you were here on your own.”

He stiffens at that, his cheekbones turning a light shade of blue before he walks inside and stands behind the chairs set up on the other side of the desk. He doesn’t imagine he’ll be here for all that long. And despite the fact that the guards only had holstered pistols instead of rifles, he still wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable being in her office. Not that anyone could blame him, really.

“*so, um. i’m sorry about –“

She cuts him off with a small snort of amusement, and Sans admires the way her chapped lips twitch into a smile, and the way it reveals lines in the skin. The smile helps him feel a bit better. “It’s fine, I think I needed that, actually. Come on, have a seat. You might be here for a little while, but I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

There’s a bit of hesitation, but Sans ends up settling into one of the chairs. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

“Good, good. So, I’ve finished reading through your quote unquote ‘research’,” Kochek says, patting a stack of papers on her desk. Sans doesn’t find the use of quotes offensive – he’s no biologist, and neither is Alphys, but they did their best. “It was very fascinating. And I’m glad that you decided to go through with this after all. It was a nice compromise, and I think it helps us understand each other a little better. Though I have to say that your grasp of human anatomy was very… surprising. No, don’t give me that look, it’s just unexpected is all.”

“*so, that’s one thing off the table, then? have you spoken with alphys about it?”

“Oh yes, we’ve already spoken. She’s a lovely woman, if lacking the confidence she’ll need going forward. This whole operation is about to be blown sky high, as I’m sure you’re aware. There have been discussions upon discussions through higher ups, and honestly, I’m one of the last people to read this. It’s really helped move things forward, and with the video feed interviews with Toriel and Frisk, the talks have been going much better than anyone could have anticipated. You’ve done your people a great service.”

Sans feels himself flush almost all the way to his clavicles. This is the first time he’s done this, in all eight surface timelines, and he doesn’t know what to do with the praise. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that he’s actually managed to help when it comes to the peace talks and getting his people to the surface, and helping humans understand more about monsters. It’s also difficult, though, because he knows how a lot of humans will inevitably treat them, too, so it’s a bizarre sort-of-but-not-quite victory.

Plus the praise is practically glowing, considering who it’s coming from. Sans isn’t all that used to praise. It’d taken ages to get used to it from his partner, and here it was coming from someone who was more or less a complete stranger. Someone who he was probably wrong about.

“*i think i get it now,” Sans finds himself saying, his gaze shifting up from where his hands were settling on his lap to stare intently at her chest, though rather than looking at her bosom, it seemed like he was looking through it. He can’t see her Soul right now, but he knows what color it is. She shifts slightly uncomfortably, but doesn’t make any move to cover herself. Sans blinks, bringing his eyes back into focus, the lights that make up his eyes physically shifting from fuzzy and slightly larger to smaller and sharper when he looks up at Kochek’s face. “*why your soul is the color it is. i’d been debating about it for a while, but it makes more sense now.”

Her expression shifts to contemplative, some of the wrinkles smoothing out as her face seems to lose some of the stress and tension. He can’t imagine how much stress she carries on her shoulders, the knots in her muscles. You had seemed to get them even when you sat hunched over your desk for a couple hours doing your homework after a late night, and who knows how long the weight of Kochek’s job had crushed her under its weight.

“And what color is my Soul, then?”

“*it’s green. i’d thought it should be orange, yellow, or red. green would have been my last choice. you just seem so… well, _seemed_ so…” He takes a hand out of his pocket, gesturing lazily with it as he tries to think of a way to explain it nicely, “*strong-willed.”

She laughs, and the sound isn’t musical, nor is it a pleasant sound, but it’s genuine anyway, and Sans finds his mouth quirking up in the corner. “That’s a lot nicer than you have any right to be. But go on, tell me a little more.”

He takes a breath, puffing out his cheeks slightly. “*i don’t know. you probably just love your country a lot, and care about people as a whole. i guess I can get behind that kind of dedication. i’m sort of glad now that our first meeting went so far south. if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t have been much of a help at all. i needed that push. your kindness was there, it was just shoved behind your fear and your concern, and it was a concern directed at your own people. i get that. i used to be the same way. once upon a time i would have killed anyone that threatened us.”

“What changed?”

“*i got tired.”

There’s a pregnant pause where Sans stares into nothingness again, and Kochek observes him, taking his behavior into stock and contemplating it. But then she finally sighs and leans back, tucking a stray piece of that white shock of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Sans. For being honest with me. And for saying that. I do love my country, and my people. You were right, though, I wasn’t considering what was best for yours. Not going to lie, it’s still really difficult.”

A snort. “*i know what you mean. it’s going to take a long time for humans to accept us. humans are going to be scared. they’re going to think the worst about us. maybe not at first because we’re new, and they don’t know better. it’ll be like their worst nightmares come to life, just walking around the neighborhood. when they realize we’re not a threat, that we generally won’t fight back, they’ll push. monsters will get hurt, likely even fall down.”

She frowns at him, brows furrowed, but she’s not angry, just concerned; on edge. “What makes you say that?” By the tone of her voice, she knows he’s right.

“*if you all do that to members of your own species, what hope does mine have? i’ve brushed up on my human history.” There’s a pause, before Sans’ expression shifts to something contemplative, and he tips his head to the side slightly. “*say, what do you know about the monsters that aren’t from around here?”

“Not much. It’s pretty under-wraps. But there’s something more pressing to discuss: An upcoming press conference. You’re being requested to be a part of it.”

“*oh yeah, because putting someone that’s the very depiction of human death on international television is going to be a great idea. why not stick with someone a lot cuter and less threatening looking?”

“You’ll be fine if you toss a couple jokes in there.”

“*oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” Sans deadpans, knowing that that’s not going to help in the least. “*i’ve got a _skele-ton_.”

 

* * *

 

 

There is no word in the dictionary – any dictionary – that describes how completely and utterly awkward the press conference is. After months and months of hemming and hawing, world leaders finally decided that this was going to happen, and interrupted every American TV station for this discussion, which was also being livestreamed everywhere else, many news stations from other countries covering it as it happens. It started off well-enough, with the Vice President and Secretary of Defense sharing some words with the American public before the Commander-in-Chief himself took the wheel.

There was a lot of meaningless blather, though a lot of it was good. Monsters have re-emerged from beneath Mt. Ebott, and they didn’t mean any harm. Discussions had been had with world leaders and the monster monarchy to develop a solution. One of the steps in this solution was to formally introduce the monsters to the public.

Several news reporters started laughing. They didn’t believe them.

Frisk goes out there first, a human interpreter with them as they start signing things. Telling them about how the barrier really was down, how they’d done it, and how monsters were good people. The whole child-ambassador thing seemed to be working out just as well as everything else was, and instead of waiting for them to call out Toriel and Asgore first, Sans grimaces slightly and walks out to stand in front of the crowd behind the long table that’s been set up. After a moment of staring awkwardly at the crowd with them looking at him right back, he finds himself licking his teeth – a new nervous gesture.

Taking a soft breath, he nudges Frisk out of the way of the podium and stands behind that, resting an elbow on it boredly and resting his cheek in his hand.

There’s murmurs in the crowd, but as no one had seen his legs, no one was freaking out. They still thought it was a joke.

“*i’m not gonna _fibula_ here,” he speaks, not letting the way the sound echoes from the mic (that’s weird and unusual for him) or the pun settle in the room before continuing, “*but monsters are very much right in front of your face. i know you think this handsome mug is a mask, but _tibia_ honest here, _it ain’t._ ”

And then Sans stands at his full height (which isn’t all that tall, I mean, heck, he only came up to your nose, and you weren’t the world’s tallest human) and takes off his jacket, stretching obnoxiously. As he does so, he makes a point of sliding the fingers from his right hand through his ulna and radius on his left arm, his fingers pressing up against the carpal bones that make up his wrist.

Frisk bursts into silent laughter, doubling over.

“*tough crowd.”

That one has Toriel laughing in the back, which prompts Asgore to laugh. The humans, not knowing where the laughter is coming from, awkwardly begin to join in. That is until one woman screams. Then someone else screams.

Fuck dammit.

“*ladies and gentlemen, please, i know you’re excited to see me, but –“

He pauses when someone, louder than they think, exclaims to the person next to them that there’s no way that that’s real. How the effects for his face look too weird and cartoonish. At least if they were going to prank everyone with a monster, they should have done it better. Sans can’t help it when he laughs, his forehead hitting the podium with a thunk, arms wrapping around his skull. That is the funniest shit he’s heard in a while now. Even funnier than almost-but-not-quite hitting on your human corporal caretaker. It wasn’t immediately funny, though, it was funny later.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks over to see Toriel standing next to him, looking both worried for his mental health and incredibly amused all at once. Sans fucking _beams_ at her, despite how uncomfortable he is up in front of this room full of humans that are clearly flipping their shit. Instead of nudging him off of the podium, Tori’s tall enough that she merely has to lean over slightly and speak into it. Sans is kind of glad he’s not that tall. It seems inconvenient.

“Hello, humans. I am Toriel. It is a pleasure to see you all here.”

“*now i know what you’re all thinkin’, but trust me, she doesn’t have your _goat_.”

“Sans!” She chides good-naturedly, giggling and nudging him in the ribs. “I know it is in your nature to want to give others a good _ribbing_ , but do you really think that –“ She’s taken slightly off guard when someone in the audience genuinely laughs. The president starts laughing.

Sans grins. “*tori, i’m _patell’in’_ you now, that there’s nothing i’d rather be doing than pissing off the entire human race with dumb jokes.”

The press conference is a complete disaster. Someone asks to touch them to determine whether or not they’re real and not just brilliant animatronics.

Someone comes up to him and shakes his hand, laughing about a joke he told.

All in all, Sans personally considers the experience to be an incredible success.


	7. But At What Cost?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans goes on an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> http://imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com

The press conference was all over the news. It was talked about almost all the time. It was the single most interesting piece of news that the humans had ever dealt with in recent history. Plus the whole experience was sort of like a zoo, and Sans was at the forefront being its conductor. He should have been more embarrassed about the whole thing, but he wasn’t the only one who looked like an ass. Several reporters looked like complete jerkwads – their reactions were absolute _gold_ – and Mettaton had managed to sneak in at some point and wrestle control away from him.

Mettaton and his fascination with humans. Heh.

Sure, he’d looked ridiculous, too, but it actually brought him the attention needed to start an internet show, the viewers jumping on the opportunity to see more of the flamboyant robot in action. Sans had a feeling most thought it might’ve been more of a porn show than anything, the way they kept talking to him. Ah, humans. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.

Sans had been offered a couple of comedy show gigs, and he had absolutely no idea what to do with this information. Sure, he’d performed a couple times at the MTT Resort, but he was wondering what the catch was here. Was it shock value? He knew that most people didn’t like puns, so it couldn’t have been that, but…

Hell, he couldn’t say he wasn’t flattered.

The best part of everything that had happened, though, was the glorious moment when they could finally leave and go wherever the fuck they wanted. Until the next stage in housing was provided, however, no one was going to outright leave the estate anytime soon. There was too much at stake, it was still unsafe, half of the humans who watched the broadcasts thought they were a fucking joke.

_‘*probably my fault. sorry, not sorry.’_

Sans, though, he’s more interested in getting right the fuck off the property and going on an adventure. He’s got this intense feeling of wanderlust that he hasn’t been able to shake since waking up in his room in this timeline months prior. There was a lot of preparation to be done if he was going to manage this, and first things first, Sans needed to make some goddamn cookies. Don’t judge him, they were a weird comfort thing that allowed him to continue to grasp onto the previous timelines.

Plus he was gonna be smart and pack something to eat, just in case no one appreciated a skeleton walking into their establishment. Best case scenario, he ends up somewhere where a convention of some sort is happening. Actually – Nah, it was still almost a month until Hallowe’en. Damn. There went that idea out the window. Ah well, he’ll figure it out.

Sans pulls out an apron that he’d gotten Toriel to make for him, lovingly emblazoned with the phrase “cooking is science for hungry people” because it filled him with an sense of nostalgia and softened some of the hard edges that this RESET had bestowed upon him. Smiling to himself, he ties it on, remembering one time when he his brother and his partner were washing dishes together while the scent of cookies wafted through the air.

“*holy shit, i’m like some sort of housemonster,” he hums out at a conversation that’s playing out in the back of his mind as he starts the process of cookie making.

 _“I know, right?? We’re so **domestic**.” _ You’d said before Papyrus had dragged the two of you into a hug, his sopping wet hands dampening the backs of your shirts.

_“ISN’T IT –“_

“WONDERFUL?” Papyrus offers, and Sans nearly jumps two feet in the air, fumbling the bowl he’s currently mixing the ingredients in when his brother appears out of nowhere. The fact that he’d said the same thing that he’d said then tugs at the heartstrings that Sans doesn’t have. There’s a small part of him that hopes that that indicates that Papyrus remembered at least something, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

“YES, YOU BEING A HOUSEMONSTER IS ACTUALLY REALLY GREAT, SANS. IT’S NICE TO SEE YOU HAVING SUCH PASSION FOR SOMETHING!” Ah, of course that was it. Even so, Sans can’t help but smile.

“*what can i say? there’s some circumstances a guy can’t be _half-baked_ in.”

Papyrus’ eyes nearly bug out of his skull, and Sans sniggers, giving the mixture a few more stirs before setting it down and starting to separate them into equal sized balls onto a cookie sheet he’d pulled out of the cupboard when he’d started, the thing already covered in tinfoil to make it easier to clean. He never was a fan of washing dishes. Why make it even more difficult for himself?

“WHAT’S GOTTEN YOU IN SUCH A GOOD MOOD ANYWAY?”

“*just excited to go out and get some fresh air, is all,” he shrugs, and Papyrus seems thrilled by that response. It makes Sans feel good to know that he’s made his brother that happy, and he goes back to making more balls of dough. “*do, uh,” he starts, noticing that Papyrus is still there and watching him intently, “*do you wanna help?”

“CAN I?” The younger skeleton practically gushes, and he scrambles into the kitchen behind the breakfast bar, eagerly ready to assist in any way he can. Sans smiles, and the two of them make quick work of the two dozen cookies they need to make, and Sans even lets Papyrus put them into the oven while he starts on the dishes.

“*i was gonna pack myself a lunch and then head out. i’ll probably be gone overnight, if that’s cool with you. i’m sure tori can read you a story tonight when she reads one for frisk.” He’s going to go anyway, but there’s still a part of him that needs Papyrus’ approval. He doesn’t wanna worry him or anything. That would be pretty counter-intuitive. Sans just really needs a break from all this and to maybe go out somewhere and watch the stars, and think on his own. It’s not that he doesn’t like hanging out with his friends, either, it’s just…

“OVERNIGHT?” Papyrus blinks, grabbing a towel and starting to dry the dishes without even being asked. It warms his heart. Lowering his voice, his brother continues, “Where were you planning on going? I mean, that seems a touch excessive, doesn’t it?”

“*just need some time to _chill_ , man. maybe break out my smaller telescope and find somewhere to park my pelvis for a while.”

“You’re going to need more than just lunch, then,” Papyrus practically harrumphs. “We’ll make sure you’re well stocked for your adventure.”

Sans can only grin in response.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment he’s off the property and out of sight, Sans takes a deep breath. Everything is settled, everyone knows he’s going to be off for the night. Ordinarily he’d have to focus on where he wants to go, but in this case he was going to let his Soul decide where to take him as he didn’t exactly care where he was going, just that he ended up there. He’s wearing gloves, and his hood is up just in case he ends up somewhere crowded. Wouldn’t want to freak out the locals, and the ambient temperature, depending on where he does end up, may be cold enough that he won’t look too out of place with his jacket and the hood up. He’s taken the fur liner off for now because he knows it’s not all that cold and it’d be better not to draw too much attention. Fuck, he’s even wearing sweatpants. Can’t risk fucking up and ending up on the news. That’d be too difficult to explain.

He takes another deep breath in, and as he closes his eyes and breathes out he can feel the magic blooming from his Soul and out to his limbs. His magic eye burns hot but not painfully, and he takes a few steps forward. The magic washing over him is intense now, and he just lets it drag him forward into the blue realm you’d affectionately dubbed the “in-between”. It was, well, blue, and very hazy and the air was thick with magic and almost suffocating in its intensity, like the anticipation before a big event, full of nervous energy and the thick, burnt ozone scent of the air before a lightning storm.

The world of the in-between glitters with lights like stars, but every light is a door to somewhere else. As far as he knew, there were infinite possibilities, but he only had access to a fraction of them at any given time. Usually some sort of context had to be there – a story, a name, a place, a memory, a physical visit. He opens his eyes to stare into the door in front of him, a rectangular window looking into an alleyway, before stepping into it. The moment he steps through it, he’s absolutely drained, and he wonders just how far he had to travel to get there.

Sans takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall of the alley, his magical eye scanning a world awash with blue to find any nearby Souls and suss out his immediate vicinity. There are people, but not too many of them, and Souls of all colors. He can feel himself sweating, and his knees are weak under the strain of what was very definitely a long-distance port. After having not done so for a very long time – never in this timeline – he has to take more than a few moments to collect himself.

Grunting, he tightens his grip on his backpack eh has slung over a single shoulder and shoves off from the wall, heading out onto the streets. This was more his comfort zone than isolation ever was, he’d found, after being up on the surface so many times. Just walking around, seeing the sights, people watching. The stinging comments even stopped getting to him after a while, though the transition from society slowly accepting monsters to having to watch his tongue after every RESET was still jarring every time.

His eye settles back down, and he keeps his head mostly down as he walks through the neighborhood he’s found himself in. It’s a well-developed suburb and he’s in some sort of shopping complex, but the names of the streets aren’t terribly familiar. He wonders what had drawn him to a place like this. He couldn’t remember anything about it, even through the jumble of memories he had. It was probably just something a little more small, or perhaps some sort of passing information?

“*hmm,” he offers, looking up at the Walmart across the street.

Where was he even going? He didn’t know, he was merely letting his feet and Soul guide him.

Finally, he settles down on a bench at a small park, taking out his lunch and grabbing a bite of his condiment-laden ham and cheese sandwich. He’s just short enough that if he sits all the way back, his feet barely scuff the ground, so he swings his legs and tips his head back to watch the quickly darkening sky.

The laughter of children dies down into groans of disappointment as they’re ushered home to eat dinner, and soon enough there’s barely anyone in the area. A couple jogs past with their dog, and it sniffs at him as it goes past. There’s a whimper and a bark, before the animal is reprimanded lightly and he’s apologized to.

“* _snow_ problem,” he offers, waving a hand lazily. “*probably the sandwich.”

It’s not the sandwich, but he doesn’t care. It was nice just to _be_ again.

He’s just about to grab a bottle of water from his bag, when a group of young adults come towards him. They couldn’t be older than their mid-twenties, and they’re clearly a little intoxicated, laughing and making crude comments loudly at one another. They were enjoying their time hanging out, and while they were loud and abrasive, it was mainly meant in a friendly manner to each other. It was a sort of language all their own.

“Hey, old man, what the fuck’re you lookin’ at?” One of the men slur at someone walking through the park, and the group laughs. They seem harmless enough, but they’re coming this way, so Sans takes that as his cue to leave. He’s sitting in, more or less, a nook in the park, three benches settled in an open box with a cherry tree leaning heavily overhead. They clearly want to take over the space.

“Oh, hey, look,” a girl says a little too loudly, boisterous as she eyes Sans getting up to leave, “someone’s in our fuckin’ spot!”

“The nerve of that guy!”

“*hey, guys, i was just leaving,” Sans offers, trying his best to keep his voice slow and amiable for them. He didn’t want to have this turn into a thing. “*you seem like you need the space more than just me.”

“Hey, Case! I think he just called you fat!”

Cue laughter, both outrage and laughter coming from the first girl. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t have enough strength left to deal with this, and even if he did he wouldn’t want to deal with this anyway. There’s no point, don’t draw attention to yourself, Sans, he tells himself.

He jerks his head a little too quickly when a hand settles on his shoulder, and the moon clearly illuminates the ivory of a cheekbone, and both parties jerk back in surprise.

“Hey, look! That guy’s wearing a mask! It’s a little early for Hallowe’en, innit, freak?” The guy that grabbed him makes for his hood, but Sans is a little faster and much more sober. The motion causes his hood to fall back further, and Sans can’t help but curse his luck, taking another step back.

“*hey, man, there’s a costume party at my friend’s place, so i thought –“

“Let us see more, then. Shouldn’t you wanna _show it off_?” The guy lunges for him at the end of his sentence, and a couple of his friends dart around the side to join in, hooting and hollering like this is the most fun they’ve ever had. Sans can’t help but sweat in response. The hood is jerked back without him even noticing, and his whole skull is exposed for this group of people to gawk at.

“Oh man, check this out!” They’re _touching_ _his fucking skull_. “What a weird fuckin’ texture! So goddamn lifelike!”

Suddenly someone jerks back, “isn’t that the dude from the TV?”

“Hey, yeah! Let’s see if he’s really a monster!”

Sans tries to get away, and someone grabs a hold of his collar. He panics, trying to pull back more, which results in his jacket and t-shirt being pulled back enough for someone to see down it, and suddenly there’s a hand on his clavicle, reaching in between his bones, and the person who’d grabbed him fucking _screams_. Sans can feel his magic flaring up, and his eye burns, and he’s shoved violently back and onto the ground, his backpack landing with a thud next to him as pain shoots up his pelvis and spine.  Aw, shit, he landed on his coccyx. He was definitely going to be sore in the morning.

He scoots back, dragging his bag with him, and he thinks he has it in him to blink a couple yards away to get a head start, but he’s not sure if he can –

Suddenly a car screeches to a halt, and a voice jerks him into motion.

“ _GET IN!_ ”

He turns his head, and his eye gets a fix on the back seat, and before he knows it he’s there, and though startled, the car kicks it into motion, with a damn near _riot_ coming from the group of people.

He blinks owlishly at the driver from the rear view mirror, when suddenly in his face, leaning over from the passenger seat, is someone –

“Holy shit, that was so cool, are you okay?” You question quickly, your voice incredulous, but concerned.

The heart he doesn’t have damn near stops entirely.


	8. A Light in the Darkness (The End)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would say "I MIGHT write an epilogue" but we all know I'm going to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a prime example of a chapter/story going completely differently from what you have planned.
> 
> None of this was supposed to happen, but it did. And you know what? It's pretty swell, I'm okay with this.
> 
> http://imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com

_“Holy shit, that was so cool, are you okay?”_

“*y-yeah,” is the only response he can manage, and he’s tired, he’s so damn tired that he can’t hold back the subtle awe in his voice or the way his hand reaches up to stroke bony fingertips across your cheek. It’s barely a graze before he catches himself and pulls it back down, embarrassed and internally cursing himself for his lack of control. He tries to play it off. “*you saved me.”

“I did,” you find yourself breathing out, your heart squeezing in your chest in a funny way, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself reaching back so that you can take his hand in yours and give it a comforting squeeze. Sans squeezes your hand back, and his head jerks back up from where it’d drooped, chin almost touching his chest, his expression hinging on slightly desperate. For what, you don’t know. Comfort, perhaps?

“It’s okay,” you murmur, softly, “you’re okay now.”

Sans finds that he’s never loved you more than he does at this exact moment. He brings your hand to his teeth in the mockery of a kiss, both of his hands clutching yours and trembling, like you’re some sort of lifeline, and your cheeks flush in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, and your heart still does funny flips.

“I’m sorry,” your mom cuts in, voice a little harsh, “but what the _fuck_. Who are you, what the hell happened, and what the fuck is –“ She gestures vaguely at whatever’s going on in the back seat.

That seems to knock Sans out of his reverie, and Sans drops your hand like a hot potato, sitting rigidly in his seat like he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s almost humorous, but you’re not entirely sure that’s the right tone for what’s going on, especially with this stranger. You finally give him a critical glance, and your eyes widen at the sight of him like you’re seeing him for the first time.

“*i-i’m sorry, i’m –“

“Mom,” you cut in, startled, and Sans gives you that look again, “he’s the guy from the broadcast – the really funny one! One of the monster ambassadors! Oh shit, wow, am I glad we found you when we did, this is so crazy.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” your mom breathes out, clearly a little rattled by everything that’s just happened. She casts a look over her shoulder, chewing on her lower lip – a habit that you’d probably gotten her to start. Neither of you clearly know what to do with yourselves at this point. There is a monster, an actual monster, sitting in the back seat of your mother’s car, and you’d just saved him from a near mobbing by a bunch of punks.

Also he sort of teleported into said back seat.

Today’s been a weird day.

“What’s your name?” She questions, and Sans blinks owlishly again, before sweating and fidgeting. This wasn’t anything like he was expecting all this to go. This had been the earliest he’d met you by far, and obviously there wasn’t going to be any real prejudice coming from you or your family, and it seemed like you at least held some vague memory of your feelings without knowing why or how. This was good. But honestly, he’d always been nervous around your parents.

“*sans. sans snowdin,” he offers, dumbly. “*i mean, not actually, it’s really ‘sans the skeleton’ right now, but, uh, humans all have last names, and it sounds so ridiculous saying ‘the skeleton’ when it’s really obvious that i am, in fact, a freaking skeleton, and lemme tell you, i am a million and one shades of as what the fuck as you are right now.”

Somehow, you get the impression that it’s weird to hear him swear. It rolls off his tongue funny – a little too rounded and forced. Like he’s uncomfortable. Though, honestly, he really is uncomfortable, isn’t he? None of this was making sense to you right now, but you can’t help but grin at his absurd rambling, patting his knee to let him know that it was cool that he was being a complete nerd.

“*do you want cookies?” He asks after several moments of awkward silence, and you laugh, actually fucking _laugh_ at the absurdity of the question. “*they’re not poisoned or anything, i swear.”

“No, I’m okay,” your mom declines, awkwardly, pulling over so that you can all have this conversation properly instead of when she’s driving.

“I’ll have one,” you cheerfully say, and you crack your neck when you turn your gaze toward the windshield to save your neck some abuse from looking over your shoulder the way you were. You keep your hand upturned and resting on his femur, though, and after a moment of him rummaging through his bag and fumbling, you feel a slightly warm cookie in your hand. Offering a thanks, you bring it to your face to inspect it (it looks delicious), before taking a bite. It’s definitely delicious. You hum out your gratitude through a mouth full of cookie.

“Where are you from? We could take you back there.” She’s being a lot more polite now that she’s settled and the idea that there’s a foreign ambassador is in her car has also settled in. “It’s not much trouble. We were just headed home.”

Sans opens his mouth after he licks his teeth free of crumbs, giving a shrug. “*honestly, the place I’m from is classified information. government is holding us ‘ambassadors’ more or less hostage while we work out a way to integrate safely. you know how it is. but, uh, i do know that it’s probably at least half-way across the state. maybe even the country? i wish i could tell you more than that.”

“Oh. Well… how did you… get here?” You let her do the talking while your mouth is full.

“*i teleported. it was… exhausting. i usually know where i’m going, or it has personal significance, or something, but I don’t know. i just sort of went for it and ended up here. i don’t know why. fate, i guess? if you’re into that sort of thing.” Sans is trying to choose his words carefully, but he keeps inexplicitly rambling, and it’s actually really cute when he trips over the things he says. You reach back and pat his knee again, and he seems to calm himself slightly.

“So, how are you going to get back?” You finally open your mouth to speak, and you turn again so that you’re facing him, frowning when you see him shrug. “What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t you just teleport again? Or are you too tired?”

“*originally i was just going to settle down somewhere and watch the stars. i brought my telescope and everything. i know I’ve seen the stars pretty much every night since we got up here, but i was hoping to have some me time. the place we’re at, while big, is really a giant, shared space. hard to get some real alone time with your thoughts. the long distance ‘port wasn’t on the agenda. i used up way too much of my magic, so i’ll have to find a tree to crash under or something and hope for the best.”

You look at your mom then, your body language the very epitome of pleading. You couldn’t bring yourself to just leave him in the park, especially if there were more people like the ones that nearly kicked the shit out of him hanging around. This way he could crash in your guest bedroom and relax and you guys had enough food to feed him. If he could eat cookies, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

_Right?_

Finally, after several moments of deliberation, your mother caves. You give a whoop of excitement.

“SLEEPOVER!”

“____! You’re not making a good impression!”

“*actually, you’re making the best impression right now. i’ll make sure to put in a good word for you guys. And don’t worry, I’m pretty harmless. no monster in their right mind would be stupid enough to start something with a human. i’m more the kinda guy that would kick back under a pile of blankets and watch netflix.”

“Mom, can we keep him?”

Sans grins so widely his face hurts.

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out that you were nineteen and hadn’t started college yet, and weren’t planning on going until just after your twenty-first birthday, since the college you already knew you wanted to go into and were pre-accepted to was several states away and you were working full time to save up for the cost of moving and several months’ rent. Hence why you were staying with your parents. Sans knew this, but it was nice seeing it all at the source. Dinner was delicious, and you were so damned excited to watch the way his plate of lasagna lit up with magic before he started eating, even though you were still worried about him.

Your mother was understandably warry of him, and your dad was even more so, but you’d taken to him so easily that Sans was holding out hope that some subconscious part of you remembered him this time.

He smiled so much more easily now.

After dinner and more chatting, you’d suggested going outside to the back yard to test out his telescope. It was a small thing, fitting folded up in his backpack, and folded just high enough for you two to set it on the picnic table and sit down next to each other, taking turns to look through it. Sans is drunk off love and happiness as he fumbles over things to say, watching your face light up with excitement and laughter and sheer awe at his knowledge base. He wonders if he can subtly try triggering your memory, and you find yourself humming along after a moment, your face screwing up slightly as you try to pick up where you knew it from.

But then it hits you.

 _“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_  
_I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_  
 _Yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem_  
 _But if I know you… I know what you’ll do…”_

Here you hesitate, and Sans gestures, encouraging you, but you can’t quite do it. So he finishes it for you.

_“*you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”_

He looks so expectant, and you wonder if maybe… Your expression shifts, shadows of things flicking over you, but you don’t quite get it, and you feel so frustrated, as though there’s some big punchline you’re supposed to be getting but it’s just beyond your reach. You look to him, expression shifting to something hesitant; needy, perhaps.

“*so you don’t remember,” he murmurs, frustrated, and it’s so quiet you almost don’t catch it, but your voice comes out so quiet, so confused, but just wanting some sort of an answer.

“Remember what?”

He seems embarrassed that you’d caught that, and gives you a wry smile. “*would you be acting the way that you are if i were any ol’ complete stranger?”

You actually have to think about that, and you hesitantly admit to yourself that no, no you probably wouldn’t instantly bond with someone like this. It hadn’t seemed weird until he pointed it out. All the touching, all the smiles, the easy conversation, the weird sense of déjà vu – no, more like _presque_ vu, the feeling of something you know being on the tip of your tongue without being able to recall what exactly it is. It’s so subtle, so indescribable, and you find yourself getting more and more frustrated the more you think about it.

“N-No, I guess not?”

Sans takes your hands in his, running his thumbs over the backs of your knuckles, and you wonder why it’s not weird for him to do that. Why you hadn’t recoiled when he’d touched your face so gently in the car, why his expressions of awe and familiarity weren’t bothering you. Why.

 _Why_ , god damn it?

“*do you have any idea how long i’ve waited? i almost gave up.” His words are affecting you, but it’s like a dissociative thing. You’re feeling his emotions empathetically, his frustrations, his longing. Why. You don’t understand why. But you don’t wonder what he’s talking about, or if he’s gotten you confused with someone else, and that’s terrifying.

“i promised i would find you again.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your eyes widen, mouth hanging open slightly and you almost jerk back from him in surprise. There’s a well of emotions leaking up. No context to them whatsoever. Longing. Love. Desperation. Neediness. Joy. Excitement. Awe. Fear.

You whimper, and you hear him suck in a breath, and he must have seen it in your face because he’s dropping your hands so that he can take your face in them instead, and his hands are shaking, they’re shaking so much, and you realize he’s just as scared as you are, probably feeling the same things, and you don’t know why or how you know this but you _do._ Lord knows you do. And he leans over, dragging you down at the same time so he can press his teeth against your lips, and when you tremble but don’t pull away he does it again, and again.

You let out a sob of some sort, and the fact that you do is alarming, but you don’t let him pull away, and you cut him off before he starts apologizing with your lips finally working with him. You give him a hesitant kiss, and then another bolder one, and he turns into putty. When you place your hands on his cheekbones, you feel a dampness there, and then more as tears bead up against your fingers and trail over and around them.

“*you remember me,” he chokes out between kisses, and he says it again like a mantra, soft and vulnerable. “*you _remember_ me.”

“No,” you manage, voice hoarse with this barely decipherable swell of emotions, “I don’t.” And you don’t, but you _do_ , and despite the fact that your rational mind is telling you that this doesn’t make sense, you’ve never met him before, your heart and Soul ache, and you can’t stop kissing this stranger, this ambassador of monsters, this man you’ve never met before but _have_.

His hands slide down, trailing over your sides, and you _whimper_ , and he’s clutching at you like a goddamn lifeline, just touching, exploring, _needing_ , and you’ve never felt so wanted in your entire life. When his tongue snakes out to press against your lips, you let it in and it lights something in you on fire. Electricity courses white-hot through your every cell, and you’re moving, and he’s moving, and you somehow end up straddling his lap, his spine pressed against the edge of the picnic table as you struggle to mold yourself to fit against him.

This is the first time in his life that Sans has felt pure, unabashed, egregious sexual desire. Never in eight fucking RESETs has he ever wanted you like that – and not for lack of wanting, he just _couldn’t_ – but the intensity of the emotional reunion, and the mantra still going strong in his mind, and the urge to just be so, so close to you, as close as he can possibly be, has him sliding his hands under your clothes, and you _let_ him.

You let him continue to do so until the two of you are of one body, one Soul, one intense fucking _need_ , and you sob out your climax as he holds you close, kisses your face, tells you he loves you over and over and over again.

When you’re finally coherent enough to speak, though still shaking violently, you tell him that you remember a story about a moonlit walk, some coffee, and a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite sentence is the last one.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is absolute nonsense. Just a series of moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terribly written, I'm sorry.

Sans had gone home the following day, drunk on love and the feeling of your body against his, your lips having left a searing kiss that tingled long after it was over. His mood had drastically improved, and after a while of badgering, he’d finally sat everyone down in the common area and told his friends and his brother everything.

Not what you two had done, but everything else. About the RESETs, about the timelines, about the memories and the silent suffering. This was going to be it, he’d thought, hoped, needed to believe, and it was about time he’d told the truth about it all. This was, after all, the first time you’d remembered, and he told them stories about the wonderful human he’d fallen hopelessly in love with again and again, and how this time you’d found him, accidentally, and you’d _remembered_ , and while it was a lot of information to digest, and Sans had to answer a lot of questions, and though he’d felt drained as all get out when it was over…

He was so fucking happy.

His friends treated him a little bit like he was fragile after that, but it didn’t last for long. Not when his mood had drastically improved and he was more whole than they’d ever remembered him being.

 

* * *

 

 

The day they that all monsterkind was allowed to integrate properly onto the surface, he’d brought you to the estate, and you’d gleefully helped everyone pack up their belongings. By this point you were barely twenty, but you’d decided that maybe you could move sooner than you’d been planning. You hadn’t expected him to ask you in the middle of packing everything, Sans going out of his way to confront Papyrus about the fact, asking for his brother’s permission. As much as he loved you, he also highly valued his family and that was something that drew you to him before. It took a little bit of convincing, but soon enough Papyrus grinned widely.

“WELCOME TO THE FAMILY!”

The government housing surrounding Mt. Ebott wasn’t actually half bad, and provided a solid year of respite while everything was being worked out on a national scale. You’d been able to secure yourself a job, and when not paying for food and things for the house, all of your remaining funds were being dumped into your savings. You were going to have to set this money aside to pay for expenses for the three of you when you needed to find a new place. You _could_ just stay here in Home and go to a closer university, or move back to your hometown and live close to your parents (you were sure they’d be thrilled about that) but right now everything was up in the air.

Life was beginning anew.

 

* * *

 

 

Being the first monster-human relationship wasn’t easy. You’d had to fight for everything, and over time you were becoming an activist, speaking out against injustice. It never got you far, but you had to slug through it. You’d had bones broken, you’d been spat at, and you’d been called things you didn’t even know could be offensive. All because you wanted to be able to hold your boyfriend’s hand in public. All because you wanted to be able to love whoever the fuck you wanted. You felt an ache in your Soul, imagining all the times that the marginalized had to fight for their right to simply _be_ and how strong they must’ve been to get through it.

Sans slowly begins to understand why your Soul is orange.

 

* * *

 

 

You’re lying in bed and trying to sleep, but Sans is fidgeting aimlessly from his place next to you. He’s not even trying to pretend that he’s going to sleep – he’s sitting up and staring owlishly out of the window, the blankets pooled around his hips and his knees drawn up. He’s been having trouble sleeping for the last couple weeks, but he he’s clammed up whenever you’ve tried to talk to him about it. It might be the anniversary of another one of the RESETs, something you’d greatly understand if he’d only talk to you about it. You’re not sure why this one is so bad when all the others you two had talked through together.

“Sans?” you find yourself questioning, groggy as all hell as you finally give into the urge to turn towards him. He flinches, having not expected it, and looks down at you. It seems as though he’s struggling to keep his magic in check, his eye flicking between the normal white light and the searing blue one. He gives you an awkward smile of apology and reaches over to run his hand through your hair, scritching at your scalp in a way that serves to relax and comfort you. You shift closer so that you can rest your forehead against his hip, your arm lazily lying over his feet, the blanket between you and his lukewarm bones.

“*hey sweetheart. i’m sorry if i kept you up,” he says, and he sounds sincere when he does. You know that he genuinely doesn’t enjoy troubling you with his baggage, but this is important and he’s important, and you want him to open up to you. You feel him shift and know he’s looking over at the clock now that you’re not covering the screen. He takes in a sharp inhale, and you give his legs a tired squeeze in semblance of a mock hug.

It’s the best you can do from where you are.

“S’okay, Sans, don’t worry about it,” you say dismissively. “But, really, are you okay?”

“*shouldn’t i be asking you that? you have work in the morning.”

“So do you.”

He shifts uncomfortably, and the two of you are silent for a while. You start to drift off to sleep, when you feel him move, Sans laying down next to you, his hand running over your side. You blink blearily and you give him a sad smile when he looks tense and reverent, eyelights flickering over you as though trying to memorize every detail of your face.

“Sans, I’m not going anywhere.”

“*you might,” he finally responds after several moments, his bony hand sliding underneath your t-shirt to run over your bare skin. After a moment, he wraps his arm around you, squeezing you tightly against him. It’s a little uncomfortable, and you have to shift quite a bit, but you end up settling, your arm propped up over his ribcage with his arm resting overtop of yours. Your breaths mingle, and Sans presses his forehead against yours.

“*in twenty minutes, if the world doesn’t RESET, it’ll officially be the longest time we’ve been on the surface.”

“We won’t RESET,” you hum to him, and he gives a soft growl.

“*how could you possibly know that?”

“Because this is the longest we’ve ever been together.”

The words cause him pause, and he chews on his lower mandible. He looks torn between wanting to kiss you and wanting to curse you out for being an idiot. He could do both for all you cared. When he does neither, you tip your head at a funny angle to kiss him, and you keep it brief and affectionate.

“I love you.”

A sigh. “*i love you, too.”

You fall asleep in his arms before the twenty minutes is up, and when you awaken the next day, Sans is still holding you tightly and your everything is aching. He still seems tense, and though he gives you a relieved smile, you can tell he’s exhausted and hasn’t slept yet. From this point forward, everything is an unknown, and you know for certain that both of you are going to make it the best timeline yet.

 

* * *

 

 

You didn’t go into work today, you’d called in because you were glued to the TV watching the debates. Today’s topic of lengthy discussion in congress was whether or not humans and monsters should be allowed to wed. You could have gone there and been a part of it, but there was no way you were going all the way over there for that, regardless of whether or not you were one of the most outspoken members of the community about this, and regardless of whether or not you and Sans had been the first in a long line of inter-species relations.

The discussion was heated, but eventually it was time for the vote to be cast. With agonizing levels of slowness, each member of congress cast theirs in favor or against, and you watched with anticipation and anxiety as the numbers on each side climbed slowly. It seemed as though it’d be close, but near the end there’s a margin of victory in favor, and just like that it’s done. The motion’s passed.

You instantly leap to your feet, hooting and hollering with joy, all alone in the house while both of the brothers were working.

The moment Sans gets home, you sweep him up into an enthusiastic kiss that leaves him stunned, and you grab both of his hands, jumping up and down and spinning him around like you’re a kid, the widest smile on your face. He stares at you dumbly before a huge grin overtakes his own and he begins to join you in your eager bouncing. Apparently your energy was contagious.

“*i take it it passed?”

You cut him off, eyes crinkled and twinkling with mirth.

“Sans, will you marry me?”

He snorts with amusement, tugging you down into a kiss. “*sure, why not? we’re already monster married, why not be human married too?”

When Papyrus gets home, he squeals with delight, crushing you both to his body in the biggest hug you can imagine.

Things were good.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sans?”

“*hmm?”

You’re laying in bed with him, the two of you still in your wedding garb, the two of you too tired and lazy to take it off yet. You probably should because you’ll regret it later, but honestly? Fuck it.

“I love you.”

He smiles, his arm gripping you a little tighter for a moment, a squeeze of reassurance, of love.

“*i think you’re missing something.”

“What’s that?”

“*you should be adding ‘husband’ to that, love of my life.”

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“*you’re smiling, though, so i count that as a victory.”

“Hey, Sans?”

“*hmm?”

“If I had a star for every time you made me smile, I’d have the whole night sky in my hands.”

He smiles wider, feeling nostalgic from the line.

“*your eyes are like a sunset. beautiful, inspiring, and hard to turn away from.”

“Nerd.”

“*loser.”

You grin. You don’t think you have it in you to be any happier than you are at this very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for reading this absolute garbage. This is it for the Moonlit Walks Universe, and I'm glad you've stuck with me through it all.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at http://imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com if you wanna keep track of me. The next thing I'll be doing is collaborating on a Underfell Sans/DFAB Nonbinary Reader fic with nakajimagardenar (here on Ao3) or muffetsofficial (On tumblr). So you can check us out for a million and one shitposts about what we're planning on doing with that as soon as her computer is back up and running. ;)
> 
> Love you guys, stay frosty. <33333


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